To the Brink (23 page)

She'd always been a solitary person. She was comfortable with herself, didn't need the presence of other people to make her happy.

But that was before. Before she'd spent almost six months with a 24-7 guard. Six months with a demented pack of animals who ... who ...

She became aware of a high, keening sound. Finally realized the sound was coming from her.

She forced herself to pull away from the memory of the things they'd done to her. Because if she let them, the memories became real time, like the pain, and that's when she lost who she was.

She shook her head free of the thoughts. Concentrated on the sweet sound of the slowly trickling stream. Felt the sunlight filter down and kiss her skin through the canopy of trees and the netting of vines and orchids. And she thought of Dallas Garrett with the gentle blue eyes and the way he made her feel safe— when she'd never thought she'd feel safe with a man again.

She didn't think about the fear. She wouldn't think about the fear.

But she had to do something. Something ... to keep herself busy. If she didn't, she'd drift back toward that place where she was so paralyzed by fear she lost her bearings, came close to losing her mind.

She looked around their hideout. Spotted the bulky backpack Dallas had left behind.

Anything you need, it's probably in there. Help yourself.

Setting aside the M-4, she scooted closer to the pack. And for the next several hours lost herself in something other than fear.

Darcy thought the wait until Dallas arrived was endless. By the time they transported Ethan to the rendezvous point, however, she knew what endless really was.

She'd thought she'd known what stubborn was, too. Ethan showed her yet another definition of the word.

"I'll get out of here on my own steam if I have to crawl."

"See? There's no reasoning with him." With Ben at her side, Darcy appealed to Manny and Dallas to talk some sense into Ethan. With the exception of last night when Ethan had shown up at the terrorists' camp, she'd never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

"Okay, fine, big talker." Dallas ducked his right shoulder under Ethan's arm and latched onto his wrist. Manny did the same on his left side. "You're in such goddamn good shape, carry us out of here."

"You're as funny as a rubber crutch, you know that?"

"Look. Just because you were able to take on a little fluid and some protein, and just because the bleeding stopped, it doesn't mean you're ready to fly solo."

Earlier, while Darcy had explained Ben to Manny— who had heard the gunfire and come tearing into the makeshift shelter like an avenging angel—Ben had scouted around in the jungle for something to stop the bleeding.

He'd come back with leaves and roots and sugarcane, then mashed it into a paste that he'd applied directly to the wound.

So far, so good. The bleeding had stopped to the point where Manny had been able to adjust the tourniquet and redress the wound.

And now it was time to leave. Provided Dallas and Manny could get the superhero to admit he needed some help.

"Okay, fine," Ethan finally conceded when he took a step and almost went down. "Let's just do it."

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief as, suppressing a wince, Ethan bore as much of his weight as he could on his good leg while Dallas and Manny wrapped their inside arms around his waist and headed out.

She felt useless as she followed along behind the three men. Despite her insistence that she could at least carry the ALICE pack, Ben had strapped it on. Ben also carried his AK-47 and Ethan's M-4 as they began the exhausting trek that would get them that much closer to their ride out of this jungle and away from any terrorists still on the hunt.

Carrying Manny's rifle, Darcy worried over Ethan every step of the way. Over tree roots. Over logs. Over rocks and streams and through bogs and jungle brush so thick it took Ben's machete to whack their way through.

It was endless, agonizing hours of trudging through the heat and the bugs. When the sun didn't fry them, the rain came down in torrents. And then they mucked through a slippery sweat bath, not only breathing the air but also wearing it.

The only thing that saved her was that they had to make frequent stops to let Ethan rest. He was holding up through sheer force of will. She couldn't believe he was still conscious.

When at last, an hour or so before nightfall, they stopped and Dallas said, "It's just over that last ridge," Darcy sat down on the wet, muddy ground, buried her face in her hands, and expended what dwindling stockpile of energy she had left to keep from weeping like a baby.

Dallas swore to God that Ethan had gained weight on the trip. He wasn't an old man at thirty-four, but he'd been a helluva lot younger last time he'd hauled a wounded team member out of a hot zone.

He was beat. His dogs and his knees were killing him. He wanted to do what he could about stabilizing Ethan. Then he wanted to flop.

But first, he wanted to see Amy.

"I'll go on ahead and warn Amy that we're here," he told the group before letting them go any farther. "I don't want to spook her and have her shooting first and asking questions later."

As he headed toward the hideout beneath the downed tree, he fought the notion that he wasn't really as worried about getting shot by her as he was worried
about
her. But the sad fact was, he'd worried about her way too much today. Thought about her way too much.

And it pretty much pissed him off.

It didn't compute. She'd lived through hell before they'd rescued her from that camp. She hadn't needed him to come through it alive. She'd managed that all on her own. So tucked away all nice and safe in their little hidey-hole, she could get along just fine without him for a few hours.

And yet he wasn't going to relax until he saw, with his own eyes, that she was okay.

He'd told her he'd give her a signal. Told her she'd recognize it when she saw it. He guessed his face in her face was about as recognizable as it got. It was also about as creative as he was capable of getting after hauling roughly two hundred pounds of half-conscious, pissed-off man through the rain forest.

Besides. He didn't have time to get creative. He wanted to get Ethan on his back, get some antibiotics and more fluid into him, and get him shored up before they headed for the coast in the morning.

But right now, Dallas wanted to see Amy.

Just because he wanted to make sure she was okay, he told himself again. This was no
Hi, honey, I'm home
crap.

The fact that it even crossed his mind to say exactly that ticked him off even more.

Just get it over with.

He crept up to the hiding place, lowered himself carefully over the log, and crawled straight inside.

Empty.

His heart slugged him several good ones dead center in the middle of his chest.

She was gone.

Amy was gone. So was the M-4.

The ALICE pack lay neat and tidy where he'd left it.

A bleak scenario slammed through his mind. The tangos had found her. They'd taken her. Hurt her. Worse. Killed her.

Pulse racing, he sat back on his heels and whipped his boonie cap off his head.

"God damn it." He dragged a hand through his hair. He never should have left her! He should have known she couldn't defend herself.

He should have—

A sound grabbed his attention, setting the hair on his arms on end like a shock from a hot wire.

He froze, cocked his head. Listened.

And heard it again. It sounded like ... humming?

Revived and revved on an adrenaline burst, he belly-crawled soundlessly back out of the hideaway and listened.

There. The sound was coming from the stream.

Creeping on his belly, he peered over the lip of a bank that had been carved away by centuries of tropical rainstorms.

And saw her.

It was one of those couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't believe what he was seeing moments.

It was Amy all right. Thank God it was Amy. Not hurt. Not dead. Not captive.

She was alone on her knees, facing him on the opposite bank of the stream. The M-4 lay in the sand by her side.

She didn't see him. And she looked... hell. She looked like a different person. She was ... clean. Even her hair was clean. The snarls had been combed out. She'd pulled the wavy blond mass of it back from her face, fastened it in a long tail at her nape somehow.

There was a yellow orchid tucked behind her ear.

And she was humming.

Not that horrible, tortured nightmare of a sound that had oozed out of her like a slow seeping wound. This was ... pleasant. Pretty even. Dallas didn't recognize the melody, but he recognized the mood: peace.

He
didn't feel peace.

On the heels of a load-leveling, grateful relief, what he felt was a swift, consuming rage.

He launched himself off the embankment. Landed midstream in front of her with a splash and a snarl. "What in the hell are you doing?"

Chapter 17

Amy jumped, grabbed the
M-4,
and stumbled
to her feet. She'd hauled the gun halfway to her shoulder when she realized Dallas was squared off in front of her.

His face was still covered in paint, his fatigues were dirty and ripped, and the floppy brim of his camo cap hid his eyes in dark shadows.

Air cleared her lungs like a fire alarm cleared a building. "Jesus, Dallas. You scared the breath out of me."

Before she could even think to lower the gun, he grabbed the barrel and jerked it out of her hand.

"Yeah and if I'd been a tango, I'd have killed you. What are you
thinking?
What are you
doing
out here? Out in the open?"

When her heart finally moved out of her throat, she realized she was facing a man on the edge. He wasn't just angry. He was fighting mad. And all of a sudden, so was she.

A temper that had been terrorized, beaten, and brutalized into submission resurfaced like a struck match.

"Living," she said, lifting her chin. "What I'm doing is living. On
my
terms."

"By making yourself a target?"

She took a step toward him, pinned him with her glare. "By doing something I want to do."

"I can't believe you'd be so reckless."

"I wasn't reckless."

"The hell you weren't!"

He swore under his breath and spun around toward the opposite bank. She grabbed his arm, surprising them both before he could stalk away.

When he turned and met her eyes, what she saw there took the bite out of her anger.

"I'm sorry," she said, finally understanding. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."

"You didn't frighten me." He bit out the denial like it was bitter fruit. "You pissed me off. Christ, Amy. You could have given us away. You could have been captured again. We could have walked into an ambush and we'd all be dead now instead of—"